


Morning After

by diemme



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Cheating, Infidelity, M/M, Male Slash, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemme/pseuds/diemme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David faces the morning after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic from my Football Slash days on Livejournal. It is set in Madrid just after the filming of the Roman Gladiator Pepsi commercial.
> 
> DISCLAIMER : Fiction, it never happened! I'm sure these two never exchanged anything more than haircare tips. Is not intended to imply anything about the players' sexuality or fidelity.

David perched on the edge of the bed, sheets rucked round his hips, his eyes following the movements of his companion around the hotel room. The other wore only a pair of gray slacks and his blond hair was damp from a recent shower. He dropped to his knees before an open suitcase on the floor, rifling through the contents. Movement shook water drops to his shoulders, trailing paths over chest and nipples. Last night David had explored and mapped that territory with tongue, teeth and fingers, today it was a foreign country. His stomach churned.   
  
Though the bed was still warm from their bodies David sensed that the other had already forgotten him. He knew it when he whispered the other's name, "Francesco?"   
  
Francesco started and met David's eyes as if surprised to see him still there. Likely he was, David thought.   
  
"Yes David?" The words were almost a caress, more the effect of Francesco's heavily accented English than any intent on the Italian's part. David felt he should say something, what or how he wasn't quite sure.   
  
They'd managed well enough before, despite the language barrier. David didn't know a word of Italian but his broken, gappy Spanish and Francesco's meagre store of English had tided them over. They had bonded during the shoot, their shared delight and humour over the costumes a marked difference from the awkward self consciousness of the other men. Teasing, flirting, challenging glances, touches innocent in appearance, lingering in duration and illicit in intention followed. David couldn't remember the actual words, agreeing to come here, giving consent. He remembered the moist heat of silken lips and tongue, trailing liquid fire over his body. He remembered demanding, questing hands and probing fingers searching, stroking, teasing, drawing his pleasure from him. He shook his head and released a breath he hadn't known he was holding.   
  
Francesco waited, managing to look polite, encouraging and impatient at the same time. It didn't seem possible...what they'd done last night, Francesco was ivory and golden, pristine and remote like some marble masterpiece or an angel made flesh. Out of David's ken entirely. David tried again, twisting the sheet between his fingers, "Err, look Francesco..."   
  
"I understand, David."   
  
David doubted he did but was glad of the interuption. The Italian left his spot on the floor, moving to kneel between David's legs. A blush scorched the English player's cheeks as Francesco ran his hands up David's thighs. The hands stilled at midthigh, burning the flesh they touched, Francesco smiled like the sun coming up and suddenly it was all very real.   
  
"You feel guilty, no?"   
  
"You might say that," David replied lamely. "I didn't plan this, you know? I don't usually do this." He didn't think Francesco cared but he needed to say it.   
  
"Oh, I'm sure you do not, David and what they don't know..." Francesco let his sentence trail off, punctuated with a philosophical shrug. He stood, cupped David's face in his hands and kissed his brow, "Don't worry yourself, beautiful David." His tone was amused, the kiss dismissive. David guessed that by "they" Francesco referred to his own girlfriend and David's wife. Better than it could be for them, wasn't it? No chance of anyone running to the tabloids or making a scene or turning up pregnant. It was hard enough to think of Victoria without pain right now but she wasn't the only one he had to think of.   
  
Francesco had returned to his packing. There was nothing else for David to do but clean himself up and leave. With some effort he gathered his clothes and made his way to the bathroom without dropping the sheet, not that Francesco had spared him a glance. As he turned the shower on a musical ring emitted from the pocket containing his mobile. A look at the number convinced David that the universe had a twisted sense of humour.   
  
"Yeah," he said quietly, "yeah, what they don't know." He answered the phone and forced a smile into his tones, "Hey Mikey." 


End file.
